𝓹𝓸𝓻𝓬𝓮𝓵𝓪𝓲𝓷 𝓫𝓸𝔂 // 𝓷𝓮𝔀𝓽𝓶𝓪𝓼 𝓼𝓽𝓸𝓻𝔂 ✿

Porcelain Boy

(tw//depression)

The next week was an endless downhill spiral. Each day worse than the day before. I hated our argument, and made different ways to spin it facing me. I convinced myself once again he did it because of me. I knew I was wrong, but I told myself I was right until I believed it. The thought of him sitting helplessly in the stupid shack eats away at me every day.

Eating is a rarity, and I can't remember the last time I ran. Minho forces me to drink water, and constantly comes to check on me. I hadn't barely moved from Newt's bed in a week. I felt horrible, and cried for the majority of my pathetic days. I forgot entirely about the tree house ordeal. I hadn't showered since the day I saw Newt either. I hated myself for that.

Teresa came once and asked how I was doing, but we didn't hold a very good conversation, so she eventually left. So I lay here, letting my thoughts control me, like I had for the past week. Sometimes I wished to go see Newt, but then I remember how he hates me. How he wanted to die because of me. My foolish temper and dumb tears. How could someone like him ever like me. I try desperately to brush the thoughts away, but they keep resurfacing.

I hear the door creak open, and groan internally.

"Thomas get your ass out of bed we're going to see Newt." Minho states defiantly.

I begin to plead and cry hopelessly. He ignores me and drags me out of bed. I don't want to see Newt at all. Minho makes me eat a horrid breakfast with the rest of the Gladers and proceeds to make me shower. It felt nice to be clean and fed I guess, but the though of going anywhere near the shack made me feel sick.

Minho grabs my wrist and pulls me along, tears already streaming down my cheeks. This morning went by in such a worried blur, what will I say to him. Can I even look at him long enough to speak. He hates me. He hates me.

I hear the door open, and smell the putrid musk of the shack. I place my hand on the wall, my head spinning as I try to focus. I let out a stifled cough of sorts. Minho consoles me and I turn to look at Newt. It's almost as if my old self clicks in. But then of course, he despises me.

I didn't notice but he's been crying too. I see his glistening cheeks, and red eyes. I place my fingertips to my cheek, remembering how he kissed them earlier that week. I hear Minho exit, and curse under my breath. We hold eye contact for awhile, until my hands begin to shake, and I turn towards the door.

"Thomas please." He whispers hoarsely.

His voice stops me in my tracks.

"I didn't mean to get upset, I'm terribly sorry." He says through sniffles.

I spin around to see him.

"I know you're fragile Thomas. You're delicate, you're- God, you're my porcelain boy." He spills out.

Me?

"Just please tell me it wasn't my fault." I beg stupidly, hanging my head to the floor.

"I think it isn't, but I can't stop telling myself it was." I explain, wiping my eyes.

In a heartbeat, he grabs the pen off his nightstand and scribbles on the back of Alice's Tale. I take small steps towards him as he extends his arm towards me. I gingerly take the book. Written sloppily on the back, it says,

"It wasn't your fault Tommy."